


boundless as the sea

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [16]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, BDSM, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Scratching, Sex Magic, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trott drums his fingers on his desk, thinking hard. It had been a few days since he and Smith had talked, and something had occurred to him. He and Smith had been together a long time, but they weren’t bonded in some sort of magical way.<br/>It wasn’t until Ross and Sips came around that the idea of magical bonds had come up. The kelpie could use some closure, some grounding, especially as unhinged as they all felt. Something to bind them together would make their court stronger.<br/>To bind Smith to him and him to Smith, he’s doing it his own way. And that means selkie magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	boundless as the sea

**Author's Note:**

> “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.”  
> -Act II Scene II from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.
> 
> CW: BDSM (specifically bondage) and sex, mentions about the ethics of murder and killing, brief mention of drowning  
> If I need to tag anything else, let me know.
> 
> I'm really happy with this. I've been working on this (and another fic still in the works) off and on for the past three months. I hope you guys enjoy it. Thank you for the likes and support ^^.
> 
> want to reblog? https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2015/10/16/boundless-as-the-sea-ghostofgatsby

Another work day for Trott down at the shop. It was mid-afternoon, and the sky outside was dull grey with rain. Fast food wrappers from today's lunch sit at the edge of Trott's desk. He props his cheek up on one hand and looks at the clock. He has fifteen minutes left of his break until he has to go over inventory with Crystal. They needed to make room for the newer merchandise in the store, and there was space they weren't using effectively.

But something other than work has been on his mind all day.

Trott flicks a few lost sesame seeds off the top of the desk and drums his fingers on the surface, thinking hard. It had been a few days since he and Smith had talked, and something had occurred to him. He and Smith had been together a long time, but they weren’t bonded in some sort of magical way.

It wasn’t until Ross and Sips came around that the idea of magical bonds had come up. The kelpie could use some closure, some grounding, especially as unhinged as they all felt. Sips’ near drowning had left them shaken and they were still trying to recover from it. It might be a good idea to strengthen the bonds between them, he and Smith most of all. Something to bind them together would make their court stronger.

Blood magic was quick and easy. Smith had used it to bind Ross to him, and they had all used it as part of the King of Misrule ritual. It makes a somewhat stable bond, but it’s not Trott’s style. No, to bind Smith to him and him to Smith, he’s doing it his own way. And that means selkie magic.

The selkie in question hums and digs out a notebook and pen from his desk. He uncaps the pen with his teeth and taps the writing end on the paper a couple of times before beginning to write.

 _Binding Smith_ He writes across the top, and begins to list things he’ll need.

_\- magic_

_\- sex_

Sex would only increase the potency of the magic, binding it easier than magic alone. Trott’s magic was powerful, but sometimes it didn’t work with Smith’s. Adding sex might get over that barrier, should he be in control of the situation.

- _BDSM_

More specifically...physical bondage. Which he’d have to get Smith’s permission for.

Trott chews on the pen cap idly as he writes. Smith could be finicky about being tied down. At least at first- after they got started he’d relax into it. His nerves were understandable, but Smith would let Trott tie him up if he knew what to expect to some extent.

- _rope?_

Trott preferred rope over cuffs, honestly, as he liked the lines it left behind and the feel in his hands as he tied knots. Maybe he could work his magic into that too, strengthening the ritual itself. Literal and figural bondage.

The selkie taps his pen on the paper some more. Thought of ropes on sailing ships, but he wouldn’t want that, too rough. Something softer, but maybe with a color along those lines. Eggshell white and nautical blue rope criss-crossing Smith’s chest...

Trott scribbles out the question mark at the end and doodles a smiley face instead.

- _rope :D_

_\--custom order, white and blue_

_\-- imbued with magic_

For a strong magical bond, he could imbue the rope in seawater. It would make the magic more potent, and easier to work with. It also meant he’d have to take a trip to the ocean.

- _seawater_

Now, what was he tying Smith to? They could just do it in bed, but that would be more difficult, depending on what he used in the ritual. They cleaned the sheets often enough as it was, with four people sleeping and fucking all in one bed.

No. If Trott tied Smith to the bed, he was likely to get more panicky. Feeling way too vulnerable way too fast. He could tie Smith to a post, standing up, but that lacked in positioning. He’d have to buy something, then...

\-- _St. Andrew’s cross?_

They were expensive...but what if...  
Trott grins when an idea strikes him, and happily writes down the rest of the materials he needs.

 

* * *

 

The selkie shakes the rain from his umbrella when he opens the door and steps inside the apartment he shares with his court. It had been raining off and on all day. There were no thunderstorms but there was enough rain to flood the streets an inch. The city had been having terrible drainage problems recently.

Trott shuts the door behind him and locks it up with locks both real and magical. He wipes water from his eyes. He didn't mind mid-spring rains too much. The coolness of the water reminded him of sea spray, but the wind today had tried to wrench his umbrella out of his grip, which left him mostly soaked through.

Sounds of cooking and Sips' quiet laughter come from the kitchen, and Trott smiles at the familiarity. Smith is sitting on the couch, watching some reality program on tv. He looks over his shoulder at Trott and smirks.

"You're looking a little wet there, Trott. Missed me while you were at work?" Smith chuckles, eyes brimming with implied sexual context.

Trott rolls his eyes and wrings his button-down shirt out over the "Fuck Off" welcome mat they have by the door. "Got caught in the rain." He clarifies, shaking raindrops from his skin.

"I can see that." Smith looks him up and down, at the way his wet clothes cling to his arms and legs.

The selkie grimaces at the squelch of water in his shoes. He toes them off and his wet palm sticks to the door as he leans on it to keep his balance.

"How was work?" Smith asks, turning further in his seat. He leans his head on his arm on the back of the couch and watches Trott peel off his jacket and hang it up to dry.

"Same crap, different day." Trott moves a lock of wet hair out of his eyes. "No annoyed customers today, which is always a bonus."

Smith smirks. "Nobody complaining their dildo didn't feel quite right?"

"Don't even get me started about that." Trott scoffs. Two days ago a customer had tried to return a very used dildo, and started a conversation about how they believed 'things just shouldn't go up there'. They wanted their money back, and Trott had to repeat many times, 'sir, if it's been in your ass, _we don't want it back_.' Fucking customers sometimes.

He shakes his head at the memory and starts peeling his wet socks from his feet. "How has your day been?" He asks Smith as he hops in place and leans against the door for balance again. “Did you do anything?”

"I woke up about two, so. Just been lazing about." Smith smiles.

Trott rolls his eyes and walks around the couch, wet socks in hand, headed for the hallway.

"Need some help getting out of those?" Smith asks with a sly look.

"I think I can manage." Trott grins, and fiddles with the slippery buttons on his shirt. "Besides, I won't be long and there's something I want to talk to you about before dinner."

The kelpie's grin falters. Trott tracks the movement of his Adam's apple when Smith swallows and gives a terse nod. "Alright."

"Nothing bad, sunshine." Trott assures him softly. He leans over and kisses Smith's stubbled cheek. "Just want to talk for a few minutes, okay?"

Smith gives a disgusted, grumpy frown, but shrugs. “Sure?”

Trott smiles reassuringly when he pulls back, and leaves the living room to change out of his damp clothes.

Once warm and dry, in sweatpants slung low on his hips and one of Sips' tank tops, he meets Smith in the living room again. Trott plops down next to him with a relaxed sigh.

“Have you ever heard of the Odyssey, Smith?” He asks, turning towards him. “The Greek epic by Homer?”

Smith shakes his head. Trott leans back into the couch and inserts himself under Smith’s arm.

“It tells the tale of a war hero lost at sea, trying to get back to his wife and son. Over the course of his journey he meets a variety of creatures that try to stop him from reaching home.

“In one part of the story, Odysseus had his men stuff their ears with wax and tie him to the mast of their ship. They sailed through a rocky strait that a group of sirens lived in. He left his own ears unstopped to hear the siren’s songs but writhed against his bonds while his men rowed as fast as they could to get away.

“But it wasn’t the sirens they should have been afraid of. For once they reached the other side of the shore they met the selkie tribes. The selkies’ dragged them down one by one, but only managed to take six men before Odysseus’ ship got away.”

“Only six?” Smith asks.

“With the threat of sirens attacking too, the sailors were already on edge. Harder to get them over the side of the ship, but still completely possible.”

Smith hums. “That’s surprising. You would think the entire ship would have gone down by that point.”

Trott nods. “Some of the old selkie grand-maidens will say it’s untrue- that even Odysseus didn’t get away. Slowly driven mad by the voices of the sirens, he accepted the selkies’ charm like a fish to the sea.”

Smith chuckles quietly. “Are there any fae stories that don’t end in death?” The kelpie inquires with a twist of his lips. “Seems to me no human ever gets away.”

Trott gives a shrug. “There are some stories of a human stealing a selkie’s skin and marrying them. Some of those have happy endings, but most don’t.”

Smith has heard these tales before, cautionary stories about why a selkie's skin was so valuable. If stolen, if would be like shackling a man, condemning them to land or to some eternal servitude. Taking their free will away.

“That’s horrible.” He shakes his head.

“It is.” Trott agrees with a bitter sigh. “It really is.”

Smith couldn’t think of someone taking his bridle and keeping it. The very hint of the idea had him on edge. There were stories like the one’s of selkies marrying humans, of kelpies forced to work for them. Stuck forever in their horse form, saddled, and forced to trod the land into dust.

“Why bring this up?” Smith asks after a pause. “Not that I’m complaining or annoyed or anything. I’m just wondering. It’s pretty rare for you to talk about something...from before.”

“I don’t know, I just thought of it.” Trott brushes non-existent patterns in the fabric of Smith’s jeans with his fingertips. “I was thinking about rituals recently.”

“Yeah?” The kelpie squeezes Trott’s shoulder gently to encourage him to keep talking.

“Ross is bound to you, and Sips is bound to all of us and us to him, but you and I, though we're close, don't share that same thing."

“What, a blood bond?”

Trott nods. “A magical bond of some kind, yes.”

“And what exactly does _that_ entail?” Smith questions with a grimace.

Trott’s fingers still from the patterns they were tracing, but his hand stays warm on Smith’s thigh. He looks up and meets the kelpie’s eyes.

“Tying you up.” He replies.

Smith inhales shakily. “You know how I feel about that.” He says, gaze stern.

“I know.” Trott strokes his thumb back and forth across Smith’s thigh. “But I know you trust me.”

“Why do you have to tie me up, though?” Smith grinds between his teeth. “Fucking horny for kink, are you?” He smirks.

The selkie rolls his eyes. “No. I’m integrating my magic into the rope. It’ll help the bond work together with your magic. Which, as you’ll remember, doesn’t work cohesively with mine.”

“Will the scene also include me integrating my dick into your ass?”

“You’re fucking filthy.” Trott scoffs.

“Says the man who wants to tie me up.” Smith replies, grinning.

Trott scowls and narrows his eyes. “I’d say rope is pretty tame compared to the filth running through _your_ mind.”

“And how would you know what kind of filth that is, you kinky fucker?” Smith growls.

Trott gives an annoyed huff. “Are you done?” He growls back.

“Maybe.” The kelpie banters haughtily. He smirks and turns back to the tv.

Trott skims his fingers over Smith’s thigh again with a tired sigh. He can tell that Smith’s not actually paying attention to what he’s watching. Not when his eyes are skittering about, distracted.

“So...” Trott feels Smith shiver as he trails his fingers up the inside of his thigh and back down again. “Are you going to let me tie you up?”

“It’s not that easy, Trott.” Smith argues, voice lowered and smirk gone from his face. “And can you _stop_ that?”

Trott grins. “Stop what?”

“Dammit, Trott.” Smith scowls. “Your fucking hand on my thigh.”

The selkie chuckles lightly before moving his hand away. “I didn’t know it was fucking, but okay.”

“I hate you.” Smith groans.

“Love you too, Smith.” Trott laughs. “But do you have an answer for me?”

Smith sighs and nervously looks at Trott again. His mossy green eyes stare into Trott’s sea-washed blues.

“Can I think about it?” He asks, mouth pulled into a taut line.

Trott smiles. “Of course you can, sunshine. Take all the time you need.”

Ross calls them for dinner, and the two water fae stand to join him and Sips in the kitchen. The smell of oregano and tomato sauce wafts through the air the closer they get.

“There’s three cheese lasagna, spaghetti and meatballs, and garlic bread.” Ross explains happily, moving a pile of cookbooks off the table to set the hot dishes down in their place. “I even made cheesecake for dessert.” He takes the extra-large oven mitts off of his hands before he loads up a plate and sits down at Trott’s feet.

“Ross, you’re a saint.” Smith praises, taking a bite.

Ross smirks but gives a shrug. “Sips helped.”

“I just handed you ingredients. I’m no natural cook, unlike you.” Sips protests, cutting himself a slice of lasagna and practically cooing over the melted cheese stringing from it.

Trott moans as he chews and twirls more spaghetti around his fork. “He cooks _and_ he cleans...It’s a wonderful thing.”

The garbage court digs in. With the delicious meal in front of them, the conversation is sparse. Even still, Smith doesn’t say much. Trott knows he’s gotten too lost in thought when everyone finishes eating before him.

“Holy crap, you still have a plateful to go? Jeeze, Smiffy, what’s wrong with you? Are you feeling alright?” Sips moves to feel Smith’s forehead with the back of his hand but the kelpie vehemently tells him to fuck off. The mortal king laughs and takes his cheesecake into the living room to watch Jeopardy.

“You did a good job cooking, Ross.” Smith says quietly when he finally finishes eating. He drops his fork onto his plate with a clatter and leans back in his chair. “I’m _stuffed_.” He groans, patting his stomach.

The gargoyle takes his plate. “Thanks, Smith.” He smiles and brushes Smith’s cheek with his thumb.

Smith smiles back and watches Ross clean up the kitchen and pack the leftovers away. He stands up and goes to find Trott, passing Sips on the couch who’s calling out answers at Alex Trebek and his three contestants. Trott’s in his office, sitting at his desk with books spread across it. He’s adding up numbers on a calculator, mouthing the amounts and writing them down on a sheet of scrap paper.

When Smith clears his throat, Trott looks up and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“Yeah?”

His glasses have slid down his nose to the point where they’re almost falling off. Smith adjusts them back on Trott’s face with a smile.

The selkie blinks up at him. “What’s up, sunshine?” He asks, smiling back.

Smith scratches at his meager beard for a moment before speaking. “Okay.” He says in a breath.

Trott looks confusedly at him for a moment before he understands, and his eyes widen. “Okay?” He asks to make sure.

Smith nods in affirmation. He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

At lunch the next day, Trott announced he was going to be running some errands. Ross offered to come along, but now the gargoyle was beginning to regret it.

"What do you need all this stuff _for_ , Trott?" Ross sighs and flicks his tail from side to side as Trott walks out of the shop carrying two more bags. He was already holding two in each hand for the selkie.

"Well, since I’ve been making more charms to supplement our income I’ve been running out of things. That, and Smith and I are going to be doing a binding ritual."

"A binding ritual?"

"Like when Smith bonded you two together. Only different." Trott clarifies, handing Ross the things he just bought.

Ross’ eyes flick down to his forearm, where a dark red smear lies: the only physical remains of the ritual he and Smith completed that fateful night. The idea that Smith and Trott weren’t bonded was...somewhat of an odd one. They had such a strong relationship, had been together for much longer than when he joined them, that Ross assumed they had formed some sort of bond already. "Why?" He asks Trott, juggling shopping bags in his stone grip. _Why all of a sudden decide to form one?_

"Why not? It'll make our court stronger." Trott checks his watch and starts off down the street again.

"I mean, you're not thinking Smith's straying farther do you?" The gargoyle questions. He struggles to keep up with Trott’s quick pace.

"No." The selkie frowns. "Well. For as far as he strays on a regular basis...I don't know. I don't know if this is going to help much, or not."

Ross looks at Trott worriedly. "He isn’t going to leave...is he?"

"No, sunshine, no. He couldn't do that even if he tried." Trott smiles warmly. "He cares about us too much. Smith'll always come home, whether he thinks he should belong there or not. This gives him something more substantial. Not that we're not a reason already, but...you remember how we bonded Sips to us and then couldn't get rid of him?”

Ross nods.

“It's kind of like that." Trott adjusts his sunglasses, browsing display windows of the shops they walk past.

"So...what then?” The gargoyle continues, still not understanding. “If he's not going to leave. Why decide to make a bond?"

They stop at a crosswalk and watch the traffic go by. There's a frown on Trott's face again and Ross feels bad for asking.

"I'm afraid of him getting lost." He says at last, when the traffic slows enough that Trott can speak without having to shout over the sounds of moving vehicles.

"Lost?" Ross repeats slowly. Smith knew the city like the back of his hand, so the literal meaning made no sense to him.

"You've seen him when he works that charm of his, Ross." Trott sighs as they cross the street. “Even he admits it's like an addiction."

"So you want to break the habit?"

"Yes, but honestly...it's path he has to take on his own. Even magical bonds can't stop him from making that choice."

"He's a kelpie. I didn't think he chose that."

Trott shakes his head. "He doesn't choose to kill, per say, but he does choose to hunt."

Ross frowns. “Isn’t that like saying demons can’t help but sin, but they shouldn’t? That’s just his nature. Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” The selkie’s face looks ashen. “Despite our similarities, Smith and I have had very different upbringings. At the end of the day, his violence is not mine. For Smith, it’s a high, and for me, it’s a necessity when things turn sour. For me, it’s survival.”

_Murder is a cardinal sin. Those that break God’s highest laws are only destined for hell. Evil runs within those that make that choice..._

Ross hears the words in the back of his head. Old teachings from the church. But he knows now the words aren’t always the case. After joining this court, becoming part of it, he knows there’s more to the world than evil and good.

Trott looks at him with a wry smile on his face. “Also, did you just suggest Smith’s a demon?”

“No...” Ross fidgets, tail curling and twisting. “That’s not what I meant by that, I just...” He sighs. “I was just trying to say that for him, killing is natural. Isn’t it?”

Trott grimaces again. “I wouldn’t call what he does ‘natural’.”

They stop and cross the street again, walking past several storefronts with window displays.

“What is the nature of good and evil, anyway?” Trott asks rhetorically as he slows his pace again for Ross to catch up.

Ross adjusts the bags in his hands and shrugs. “Before I met you both, my life was in terms of black and white. From what I heard in the church there was _only_ good and evil. Evil couldn’t be helped, it could only be eradicated or destroyed.”

The selkie scoffs quietly. “There is no good and evil, Ross. There are terrible people and there are good people and there are good people who have terrible traits and vice versa. Everyone has bits and pieces of dark and light.”

“I know that. I know that now. Things are...” Ross sighs.”Gray. There’s more than what meets the eye. But...” Lost in thought, he trails slowly behind Trott. “What is a dead body to a murderer?”

“What?” Trott turns away from a shop display he was looking at. “What’d you say, sunshine?”

“I said...” Ross licks his lips and starts again. “I said ‘what is a dead body to a murderer.’” He looks up at the shop window, distracted for the moment.

Faceless white mannequins are dressed in fancy evening wear, with elaborately embroidered vests and sparkling evening gowns. Ross looks away from it to Trott, who’s watching him patiently. “What use is it, to stop him, really?” He finishes the thought.

His blue eyes stare into Trott’s worriedly.

 _What more can I do?_ Ross wonders. _It’s not like Smith listens ._

Trott looks away, shakes his head. “I’ve tolerated Smith’s killing for a long, long time. It’s not the killing so much that irks me, it’s his recklessness. It’s getting to the point where he’s going too far.” His jaw is tense as he speaks. “He must be drowning somebody for every day of the week. And he’s getting _careless_ .” The selkie sighs and rubs at his tired eyes. “I got a call from _Angor_ the other day.”

“The fallen archangel?” Ross’ voice hikes up in volume and Trott hushes him.

The two scan the streets and they start walking again, looking for any sign that someone heard them. But no one seems to pay attention. Only mortals going about their business and giving the two no mind.

Trott clears his throat and continues talking. “Yeah, that’s Angor. Resident keeper of doors and part of magical law enforcement. He left a message on my answering machine at work.”

Ross swallows thickly. Tom Angor was a wild card. He worked for the city but could play each side, dark and light. He’d fallen from heaven and decided to stay on earth, a fact that made him something to be fearful of. You didn’t want to get on the bad side of his power. “What did he want?”

“He said there’d been a murder at a house party. The DJ was found drowned in the shower.”

The gargoyle shakes his head, grumbling. “Sounds like Smith’s handiwork alright. Doesn’t he normally clean up after he kills?”

“Yes, normally.” Trott agrees bitterly. “It isn’t common for him to leave dead bodies around, but it shouldn’t happen regardless. It draws unwanted attention our way; it’s a liability. Leaving evidence at the scene of the crime- that’s practically begging for trouble. From the horned shitlord, from Angor and the magic inspectors, and from who knows who else Smith might have pissed off by murdering people.”

Ross kicks an errant pebble into the street. “How are we suppose to stop that?” He snaps. “Isn’t Smith just going to keep killing?”

“I don’t know, Ross.” Trott sighs. “It’s a part of him, but of how much, I don’t know.”

They continue onward down the street, this time in relative silence save for the sounds of the city.

“He’s done it so long.” Ross shakes his head. “Could he ever give it up?”

“I don’t know how much he could change.” Trott mutters. “It’s an addiction, a high, and there’s only so much we can do.”

The two of them stop outside another shop and Trott leaves Ross outside with his thoughts. He isn’t gone long, and soon enough they move on. Still without much conversation.

Trott turns to Ross when he stops outside of another shop and hands him the rest of the bags he’d been carrying.

 _"Trott, why_?" The gargoyle groans.

The selkie just smiles. "Just sit down over there, I'll be out in couple minutes." He points to a concrete-lined flower bed and Ross groans again, this time in relief. After he sits down and gingerly sets a sea of plastic bags around him he looks back at the shop Trott went into and grins.

_Aw, yeah! Ice cream!_

Trott has only eaten a fourth of the way through his ice cream when Ross finishes his cone.

"You know...the thing you said, about Smith. With his addiction to charming and murdering people. That makes sense." Ross licks the remainder of the ice cream from his lips. He rubs his fingers together to get rid of the sticky feeling.

"Yeah?" Trott asks, prompting him to continue. A drip runs down the side of his cone, but he licks it off before it can reach his hand.

"It makes sense, because when he's out hunting I get a sort of...echo. A residual effect. It's not...that noticeable sometimes, but..." Ross trails the tip of his tail along the cracks in the sidewalk. "If I do notice it, it's like I've just finished running or something. Slightly out of breath, sides-aching type of thing."

Trott hums, frowning. “That’s probably the adrenaline. Does that impair your senses in any way?”

Ross shakes his head. “No, not really. It doesn’t happen often, that I notice he’s hunting at all.”

“Has this been happening more recently?” Trott ignores his ice cream for the time being to focus his concerned eyes on Ross.

Ross thinks to himself, gesturing for Trott to eat his ice cream, dammit, before it melts. He traces the broken edges of the concrete-lined flower bed they’re sitting on.

“I don’t think so...” He says at last. “It happens so rarely that...I can’t say for sure.”

Trott nods. “Let me know when that happens again. And if it ever gets so bad that it’s affecting you in a harmful way, would you tell me?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Ross smiles comfortingly.

“Okay.” Trott finishes his ice cream, smiling back. Worry hides in the corner of his eyes, but Ross isn’t sure if it’s for him or Smith. Could be both.

The gargoyle looks down at the sea of plastic bags around him and groans. “Am I going to have to carry all this home?”

Trott chuckles and ruffles Ross’ hair affectionately. “I’d help you carry them, sunshine. But, nah, lemme call someone to pick us up.”

He digs his phone out of his pocket to call and Ross leans into Trott’s touch.

“We’re all done for the day, then?” He, curling his tail around Trott’s waist.

“Sure are,” Trott grins and adjusts his sunglasses. “At least for a few days.”

Ross grumbles but Trott only laughs into the phone and arranges their ride back home.

 

* * *

 

The sun glimmered across the ocean, sparkling and shiny. The selkie kicks off his shoes and curls his toes into the sand. The waves lap at his feet, welcoming, as he strides into the water.

The sun is just coming up over the horizon, casting pinks and oranges into the sky. Trott lowers the bucket in his hands into the waves. Seawater rushes in with a swirl of foam and bubbles. When the bucket’s full, Trott walks slowly back to Smith. He hums an old sea shanty under his breath and lugs the bucket through the sand. Sea water sloshes over the side with every step, but Trott doesn’t mind.

“Aren’t your feet cold?” The kelpie asks, a soft smile on his lips.

“Nope.” Trott smiles back, setting the full bucket in the sand and taking an empty one from Smith’s grasp. “You’ve asked that every time.”

Smith shrugs, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Can’t help but be nostalgic about it.”

Trott returns to the waves to fill up another bucket. The seawater was for the ritual he and Smith were doing later this afternoon. The two of them had both agreed to doing it sooner rather than later, Smith due to nerves and Trott from a magical perspective. The rope would hold the majority of the magic for only a small amount of time, before it would start to degrade and disintegrate from the rope altogether. Setting up wouldn’t take that long, but weaving the spell through the rope would take a few hours.

This was why they were up so early. Trott brought Smith along because he needed a car to get to the ocean, and if the kelpie could nap while Trott was setting up, all the better. He didn’t need him fidgeting and getting in the way. Nor fretting with nerves before they started.

Gulls fly overhead, cawing in the morning light. When Trott comes back with the second bucket, full to the brim, he snap the lids on and seals the salt water inside. Smith helps him lift them into the trunk of his car, and Trott collects his shoes before they leave.

The drive home is oddly content. Smith drives with the music on low and Trott sits with his sand-crusted feet out the window. He taps his toes along with the song currently playing.

“So, this...bond thing.” Smith asks slowly while they’re stopped at a train on the city's edge.

“Yes, 007?” Trott replies with a smirk.

Smith rolls his eyes, a tight-lipped smile on his face. “Does it work like Ross and I’s or is it...different?”

The bond between Ross and Smith was subtle. Echoes of strong emotions could be sensed by the other, and Ross could detect Smith’s distance from him to a certain extent. It was why Ross could sense when Smith killed, by the rush of adrenaline.

“Yes and no.” Trott answers. “All bonds are different no matter how they’re made, depending on the people they’re made with. Things can develop within the bond that weren’t originally intended.”

“Like what?”

“Like Ross’ ability to get residual effects from when you kill.”

The kelpie looks over at Trott and narrows his eyes. “Since when does that happen?” He asks, confused.

Trott shrugs.

“Are you going to gripe at me about that?” Smith mumbles, turning away and tensing his fingers on the wheel.

“About what?”

“Fuck-murdering people.”

Trott hums. “Not today.”

Smith rolls his eyes. “Thank fuck for that,” He mutters under his breath. “So, what about the bond?”

“It will probably have the same subtlety as yours and Ross’: rarely noticeable with occasional emotional parallels. Whether it will have the same levels or the awareness of distance, I’m not so certain.”

“Okay...” Smith says slowly. “What else, then? What’s it supposed to create or whatever?”

“It doesn’t create anything, per say. The magic only binds to what's already there.”

Smith frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Trott dusts off his feet and moves them down to the car floor. He adjusts his posture in the passenger seat, and once he’s rolled up the window to block out the sounds of the train, he turns towards Smith.

“We’ve been together a long time.” Trott starts, looking thoughtful. “The ritual acts as a method of solidifying that fact. It doesn’t force anything; it doesn’t create anything.

“Take the King of Misrule ritual with Sips, for example. The crown was placed on his head, and we showed him a good time.”

Smith smirks. “That we did.”

“The ritual runs on that, on that energy of fun and excitement, which is why it’s used at festivals and parties.”

“But the bond is only supposed to be temporary.” The kelpie interrupts. “That’s the whole point. All that pent up energy is supposed to be released again when the king is killed.”

Trott chuckles. “Right, but, we perverted that.”

“Yes we did.” Smith grins salaciously. “Among other things.”

“My theory is that there was already some sort of bond between the four of us that the ritual boosted.”

Smith frowns. “How? We’d never met Sips before that night.”

“True, let me finish. There must have been some sort of chemistry between us. I mean, that’s why we’ve kept him around so long, is because of that chemistry.”

“Plus the sex. The sex is pretty good.” Smith grins.

The selkie rolls his eyes, impatient. “It is, but that’s not my point.”

“What is your point then?”

“There was some sort of chemistry between us and Sips, which was why we picked him at all. The ritual took ahold of that bond and solidified it, so that by the end of the night we enjoyed ourselves too much and decided not to kill him.”

“I know I very much enjoyed myself.”

“Will you stop interrupting me?” Trott asks, exasperated.

Smith smiles. “Sorry.”

“Anyway, the bond will be like that, just buffing the one already there. It could have added benefits, but...it’s mostly just reassurance.” Trott adds quietly, looking away.

“Reassurance of what?”

The selkie stares at Smith’s reflection in the window of the car.

Trott can see Smith is distracted. He watches the train go by, catches the graffiti images between blinks. His fingers tap on the wheel, something without a real rhythm.

Trott turns his head to look at Smith again.

He’s sitting up straight in the seat of the car, too, not relaxed like he usually is.

“Smith.”

Smith looks back over at Trott with a small, tense smile on his lips.

Trott cups his stubbled cheek and brushes away a stray eyelash with his thumb. “You know sunshine, if you don’t feel comfortable doing this, I’m not going to force you.”

“I know.” Smith agrees softly, mossy green eyes staring into Trott’s. “It’s not that I don’t...It’s not that I don’t want this. This bond thing.”

“I know. It’s okay.” He strokes his cheek. “If you don’t want to-”

“No.” Smith takes Trott’s hand from his cheek and entwines their fingers. He rests Trott’s hand over his heart. “It’s not- I want to. It’s not that I _don’t_ want to do this.”

He takes a deep breath. Trott is watching him carefully, blue eyes bright like the sea on a sunny day.

“I’m not nervous about the bond, I’m nervous about the rope.” Smith continues. “And that has nothing to do with you.”

The kelpie tucks a lock of Trott’s hair out of his eyes with his free hand.

“If you want to do this ritual, then okay. I want that, whatever it is.” Smith squeezes Trott’s fingers but frowns. “What do you need reassurance for?”

Trott says nothing.

Smith frowns more at the lack of response and searches Trott’s eyes for answers. “What are you so afraid of?” He whispers.

Trott stares back at him, still not saying anything, at least verbally. In his eyes, Smith sees the sea and years upon years of history. He sees crashing waves, rocky coasts, and a lonely figure on a beach. Moonlit nights.

Smith leans closer and kisses Trott so slowly. Their lips catch and drag as they move together. He can almost taste saltwater. Trott curls his fingers loosely in the collar of Smith’s shirt and squeezes Smith’s fingers trapped between his.

As they kiss, the sound of the train trails off and disappears into silence. The last of the railcars have finished going past.

Smith hears the gates lift, but keeps on kissing Trott. A car waiting behind him to move forward and cross the tracks starts honking. Smith raises his free hand up towards the rear window to flip the car off.

The car continues to honk and Trott breaks the kiss, laughing into Smith’s mouth. Smith smirks and opens his eyes. He notices Trott is flipping the car off too, and grins.

The selkie pulls his hand away and frees Smith’s fingers. “Eyes on the road, Smith.” He teases, smiling.

Smith gives Trott a wink. With a sharp little grin, he turns away and drives forward over the tracks and closer to home.

 

* * *

 

“Hey.” Trott shakes him awake from his nap and tosses a bandana at his face.

Smith blinks his eyes open lazily and looks at the time. “Have you finished setting up?”

“Yeah. Put that on.” He gestures at the bandana.

“On what?"

“As a blindfold, sunshine."

Smith grins. “Kinky."

“That’s kind of the idea."

Trott was clad only in a pair of tight red swim trunks.

“Going swimming, Trott?” Smith tugs lightly on the hem.

Trott smacks his arm. “Just put the blindfold on, please.”

Smith warily threads it through his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the soft fabric. He lets out a shaky breath before folding it and tying it around his head to cover his eyes.

“Alright. I’m ready.” He drops his hands into his lap, but no sooner than he does he feels Trott’s warm hands take his and pull him to stand.

Something’s crunching against his feet as soon as he leaves the bedroom. “Hahah, Trott, did you lay sand down on the floor?"

“Shut up, Smith."

“Is that an order?”

Trott reaches up on his tip-toes to tug the blindfold loose.

Smith doubles over laughing when the bandana falls to the ground. “Oh my god, you did! What the fuck, Trott! Why is there a giant anchor in our living room?"

The living room was now a beach. The floor was covered in a plastic drop-cloth with sand spread across it. The furniture had been moved to the edges of the room, and a great stone anchor had been secured to the wall with rough looking sailor’s rope. A chest sat beside it.

“Trott...seriously, mate?"

The selkie sighs heavily and trods over to the anchor. “Yeah, I guess I went overboard."

Smith bursts out laughing again, and Trott groans. “I didn’t even think of that until after I said it, fuck!"

They laugh together for a few more seconds as Trott makes his way over to the chest and flings it open. Smith slowly follows him, staring at Trott’s red swim trunks. Bent over the chest like that, his ass looked delicious.

Smith gives it a smack and the selkie yelps.

“Oi! None of that.” He bundles something into his arms and turns around. In Trott’s arms are several long coils of rope, speckled nautical blue and eggshell white, with little green beads here and there that look like sea glass.

Smith’s eyes linger on it for a long time.

“Look, I tend to get ridiculous about something because I’m worried about it. In all seriousness...” Trott purses his lips and examines Smith carefully. “...are you ready for this?”

Smith looks from Trott, to the rope, and back again. He nods. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

He could see Trott’s worry hiding in the lines of his face. Smith reaches his hand out and covers Trott’s, still holding the rope.

“I’m sure.” He feels uneasy but he trusts Trott. He smiles. “I’m yours...aren’t I?”

The selkie couldn’t help but smile with him. “Of course you are. And you trust me, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Smith’s smile splits into a grin. “You know I do, you crazy bastard.”

“Okay. We’ll start then.” Trott smirks smugly, his eyes raking Smith over as he steps backwards. “Strip.”

Smith tugs his shirt over his head, sighing as the fabric drags across his skin. He tosses the shirt into the sand behind him. Wasn’t like he’d be needing it any time soon.

Trott sets the rope on top of the chest with a clunk and begins to pull it through his hands. He coils it over his arm, eyes dark as they watch Smith unbuckle his pants.

The kelpie lets the weight of his belt drag his pants to the ground with a dull thump, steps out of them, and kicks them aside. Now completely naked, he runs a hand through his hair and flashes Trott his signature grin.

“What have you got planned for me, Trotty-boy?” He tries to roll the tense feeling out of his shoulders.

Trott gives him a sultry smile. "You're going to remember that you’re mine, Smith, when I'm done with you."

The promise sends a shiver down his spine. Smith licks his lips in anticipation. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Going to have your way with me, you kinky fucker?”

“And then some.” Trott winks and nods at the anchor. “Step up.”

Smith swallows heavily and lets out a nervous chuckle. “Can’t believe you’re tying me to a fucking anchor.” He steps up onto the cold, smooth stone. “Now what?” He asks, testing his weight.

“Oh, I think you’ll find out soon enough. Turn around, Smith. Back against the stone.”

Smith shifts his position and moves his hands up to grasp the T-shaped region at the top. His hands shake and the selkie catches his gaze, eyes shining.

“Relax, sunshine...” Trott strokes Smith’s stubbled cheek. “Breathe.”

Smith leans into the touch, inhaling deeply. Trott smells fresh out of the shower, like clean water and sea salt. It reminds them both of when it was just the two of them. Before Sips; before Ross. When they were first figuring things out.

Trott takes a shorter length of rope from the pile. He folds it in half and nods at Smith. “Bend your elbows out and hold the back of your hands to the stone.”

Smith follows Trott’s words and watches as he tie his hands. The rope loops around in a cuff four fingers wide and an inch below his wrist. Another length of rope is used to tie the cuff to the anchor itself.

The softness makes Smith twitch. His feet fidget, toes curling and tensing on the stone. Pictures of men with lassos and reigns come to mind. Almost terrifying images. It makes his breath stutter and his mind start to race. He feels anxious.

But Trott’s the one tying the rope. Trott, who he trusts, who he knows at the end of the scene will let him out again. He's not going to make him do anything he isn't comfortable with. Smith knows, despite his racing heart, that these ropes are safety, not captivity.

The kelpie shivers when Trott traces the lines of his veins down his arms. Trott stoops down to tie Smith’s ankles in the same manner while Smith follows Trott’s spine with his eyes. Over each dip of vertebrae behind skin, the dappling freckles on his lower back, and the prominent scar just under his shoulder blade. Smith is calmed by the familiarity of Trott and his soft, fleeting touches as Trott finishes tying his ankles.

Trott slips his fingers under the rope and rubs the skin beneath, checking to make sure it isn’t too tight. “How are those, sunshine? Comfortable?” He stands up straight and checks the ropes around Smith’s wrists as well.

Smith strains his bonds, but the ropes stay. “They’re fine.” He replies quietly.

“Color?” Trott asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Green...” Smith murmurs back. He takes a slow, deep breath, and tenses his fingers.

The selkie moves closer to lick into his mouth, and they kiss for a while. He tastes faintly of mint and tea with a sweet aftertaste. Trott digs his thumbs into the corners of Smith’s hips and rubs tiny circles. Smith hums at the feeling and Trott nibbles at his lower lip. His nails scratch up and down the side of Smith’ upper thigh.

It feels so good to have Trott’s hands on him, caressing his skin. With the rope and the magic and his immobility, Trott is entirely in control of the scene. It’s a strange feeling. Abnormal. Control isn’t something Smith gives up willingly. But the fact that it’s Trott, so sure and certain, keeping him quite literally anchored...

That, combined with Trott’s teasing touches, are turning him on.

Trott steps up onto the anchor, bracketing Smith in and pressing up against him. He mouths kisses across his jaw; trails his tongue feather-light behind his ear.

“Are you enjoying this, Smith?” Trott asks,  voice husky. He sucks hard at Smith’s pulse point.

“Maybe.” Smith exhales breathily, eyes fluttering shut.

“ _Just_ maybe? I think _this_ says otherwise.” Trott grinds his hips against Smith’s evident arousal, drawing a soft keen from the kelpie’s lips.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I'm into this.” He groans when Trott grinds their hips again.

 _“Really_ into this?” The selkie teases.

“Oh fuck off, Trott.” He blinks back at Trott when he pulls away. “Dammit, wait, I didn’t mean...”

Trott just smiles and picks up more of the rope. He threads the longer pieces through his hands, white and blue together. Once he finds the center of the rope, he throws it over Smith’s head and adjusts the line so it lies like the collar of a shirt around his shoulders.

Smith shudders, tugs at the bonds harshly. “Trott-” He starts to protest through his teeth.

The selkie fishes his hand into Smith’s hair and tugs his head backwards to press a kiss in the hollow of his throat. A moan bubbles from Smith’s lips as Trott strokes his hand down the nape of Smith’s neck. He murmurs soft praises and kisses Smith’s shoulder blades.

“Are you going to mark me, Trott?” Smith mutters as Trott’s lips suck hard enough to leave behind a bruise.

 _Isn’t is obvious?_ His dark eyes seem to say.

Trott proceeds to bite searing, bruising kisses across his chest. Smith lets out a low moan when Trott’s teeth graze one of his nipples.

“ _Mine_.” Trott whispers over Smith’s chest bone. Trott’s teeth and lips nibble dark marks into his skin. Above his belly button, in the lines of his hips, just under his ribs.

Trott begins to tie knots down Smith’s chest. When he ties the fifth knot he gives Smith’s arousal a couple of firm strokes before hooking the rope between his legs, up, and under the rope at his collar.

Smith pants quietly as Trott slowly draws the rope around his body and through the spaces of rope between the knots. Bonds magical and non-magical tighten around him. Trott’s magic is so much lighter than his, comfortably warm, but tingles. It’s not the first time he’s felt Trott’s magic, but it’s the first time he’s felt it like _this_ _._ Winding around him with the rope, pressed close but not to warn or to heal.

Trott kisses him again when he ties off the excess rope in the lines of Smith’s hips. Smith moans while Trott rubs his hand up Smith’s cock in slow strokes.

The rope work completed, Trott steps back to survey his handiwork. Smith is flushed, tied to the anchor, and panting. His eyes are blown with lust. The selkie follows the criss-crossing blue and white rope with his fingertips. His touches are feather-light on Smith’s skin.

Smith jerks in his bonds and lets out a shaky breath when Trott kneads the palms of his hands against his nipples.

 _“Trott_.” Smith moans.

“What?”

“Touch me.” He pants.

Trott scratches his nails hard across Smith’s chest. The kelpie winces slightly at the burn.

“I am touching you, Smith.”

“Fuck’s sake, Trott...”

Trott digs his nails harder, and Smith draws in a shaky breath.

“Touch me.” Smith pleads.

“Where?” The selkie asks teasingly, licking his lips.

“My _cock_ , dammit.”

“What was that?” Trott rubs his knuckles down the rising pink marks.

Smith sighs impatiently. “Please?”

“Good boy.” Trott smiles and looks up at Smith through his eyelashes.

He blinks back wearily.

“Color?”

“Still green, Trott...” He leans into Trott’s touch, nuzzles his hand as it caresses his cheek.

Trott brushes his thumb over Smith's lips and the kelpie takes it between his teeth and sucks. Trott tugs it loose and trails the wet edge of his thumb down Smith’s throat. There’s a hitch in Smith’s breath as Trott’s thumb moves further, down his chest, between the rope, and across the smooth plane of his stomach.

“Trott...”

“Yes?” Trott stills his hand at the line of hair inches from his hard cock.

“Fu-fucking just...” Smith stutters. “Please touch me.”

Trott curls his hand around Smith’s length, stroking up and down slowly. “Like this?”

Smith whimpers and fidgets in the unwavering bonds. “Yes. Please. More.”

“More?” Trott uses his other hand to pinch and roll one of Smith’s nipples. He grins as Smith mumbles and pants. A bead of sweat drips down Smith’ neck, and Trott leans forward to lick it off of him.

Smith moans again.

“Is there something you want?” The selkie croons.

“Your _mouth_ on my _dick_ , mate.” Smith growls between his teeth.

“Hmmm...I don’t know.” Trott debates skeptically, sinking to his knees in the sand.

 _“ Fuck's sake_ , Trott, _please_.” Smith whines.

“Please what, Smith?”

“Please suck me off, I want your mouth on my c- _ah, fuck_!”

Trott licks up across the head of Smith’s cock and giggles at Smith’s ragged gasp. He looks up at Smith’s heaving chest, his parted lips, his darkened eyes. “What do you say, Smith?”

“Fuck, just.” He swallows thickly, peering down at Trott between his legs. “ _Please_.”

Trott takes Smith’s cock into his mouth and digs his nails into Smith’s hips again.

Smith lets his head tip back against the stone anchor and moans. He can feel his hair sticking to the back of his neck; the sweat dripping down his back. He rolls his hips as little as he can with the bobbing of Trott’s mouth on his cock, bound as he is. He pants and flexes his hands above him.

Trott gives a particularly hard suck and presses his tongue against the underside of Smith’s cock. Smith lets out a moan between clenched teeth. His eyes flutter shut.

The sun coming through the window casts red behind his eyelids. The ropes are tight around him, not enough to be uncomfortable, but just enough to keep him centered in the moment. Trott’s magic is seeping into his skin along the rope, grounding him, binding them. It’s making Smith dizzy, caught in the riptide between ecstasy and euphoria. He’s so turned on and so _warm_.

All too soon, Trott takes his mouth away with a wet smack.

"Color, sunshine?" He asks, licking the pre-cum from his lips.

"Brilliant." Smith mumbles. His head tips forward slightly, eyes still closed as Trott stands.

“That’s not a color, Smith.” Trott chuckles against his mouth and kisses him.

“Don’t care. Feels good.” His arms are shaking in his bonds.

Trott tuts quietly but kisses Smith slow until his breath is back to a somewhat normal pattern.

“Trott?” Smith asks, breaking the kiss.

“Yeah, sunshine?”

“Don’t stop.”

The selkie chuckles and strokes the side of Smith’s face. “Soon, Smith. Soon.” He pulls away.

Smith’s head is swimming, lolling from side to side. Trott’s magic is so heady now. It had come up like the tide, sinking in and pulling him deep. It’s settled in each line of the rope wrapped around him, holding his hands and feet to the anchor. It feels almost weighted, so present with every breath he takes because the movement tugs on the bonds around him.

Smith blinks open his eyes when he hears a popping sound, like something uncorking. Trott’s reaching into a glass jar and pulling out something small.

“This,” Trott says as he opens his hand to show Smith. “Is a pearl.” He curls the shining sphere between two fingers and a thumb, and holds it up closer for Smith to see.

It shines prismatically, shimmery and sparkly. The light from the window catches it and the brightness in Trott’s eyes, making it glimmer.

“This...is what I’ve woven the rest of my magic into. It’s what’ll set the bond.” Trott moves the pearl down to his eye-level, turning it in the light to see for himself. “One for me-” He looks back up at Smith. “One for you.”

Cradling the jar in his off hand, Trott brings the pearl down to his lips. Slowly, so slowly, with his gaze locked with Smith’s, he opens his mouth, slips the pearl onto his tongue, and swallows.

Smith lets out a shaky breath, tugging at the restraints reflexively. Trott’s eyes are like a stormy sea. He watches, rapt, as Trott fishes the other pearl from the jar in the same manner, and presses closer to him with it in his grasp. The jar falls soundlessly to the sand.

Trott presses the pearl to the kelpie’s parting lips, and Smith moans around his fingers as he places it on his tongue.

“Easy...”

He slowly closes his mouth and swallows.

“That’s it...there you go.” Trott’s hand slides down the line of his neck, following the pearl on it’s way down. His fingers dip into the hollow of his throat and continue down his chest.

Smith shivers and moans. Trott’s magic seeps into him further, a bond between them tightening at the pit of his stomach, collecting. “Fuck, Trott.” He whimpers. “ _Fuck_.”

He feels so _warm_ like he’s actually made of the sunshine Trott always calls them. The selkie’s hands are gentle and smooth as they glide down his chest, sending tingles down Smith’s spine when they press against the marks he made earlier. Trott continues trailing his hands across Smith’s body, from his lips to his chest and then further on each trek. Getting just below his belly button but no further. Avoiding his cock, still hard.

Smith whines when Trott pulls away, wanting his touch in whatever form. He pants hard as the warmth in his chest spreads throughout his body.

“Trott...” He moans.

Trott is laying down a bed of beach towels, classic striped red and white, at the base of the anchor. When he stands upright again, he’s untying the ropes.

“So good. Doing so well for me, sunshine.” He praises, pecking kisses across Smith’s neck.

With every inch the rope loosens Smith feels lighter and lighter.

 _“Trott_.” The kelpie sighs.

“I’m right here.”

“Fuck...” Smith is still so warm, so dazed, and lets Trott pull him from the anchor. The ropes fall away. His hands are brought to rest on Trott’s shoulders. There’s a change in gravity when his eyes fall closed. He lets out a quiet hum and opens them again; The shadows on the ceiling shimmer like he’s looking up at the bottom of the sea. He finds himself lying on his back on the towels when Trott finally touches his cock again. Smith jerks in his grasp and notices he’s been so out of it he hadn’t watched Trott finger himself open.

“ _Fuck._ ” Smith moans softly. “...Please, Trott...”

Trott rubs his thumb under the head and Smith lets out a strangled cry.

“Just a little longer, sunshine. Almost there.” He throws his leg over Smith’s waist, straddling him, and grips the base of the kelpie’s cock as he sinks him inside.

“There we go...” He begins to ride, moaning along with Smith. “So good for me.”

 _ _"Fuck, Trott__.” Smith hisses, shaking and writhing. “ _Please_.” His fingers curl into the cotton towels, crunching the sand beneath it.

The selkie rides him harder, and moves one of his hands to press down against Smith’s chest for balance. The other strokes himself off.

“That’s it...almost there.” He pants and moves faster.

Smith groans loudly, but his whispered “ _Please_.” is barely audible over the sounds of their fucking.

Trott tosses his head, his hair sticking to his forehead and neck with sweat. “ _Come for me, Smith.”_

Smith does, his back arching off the floor. He feels as if he’s leaving his body. Everything is white and bright and blissful, and every breath he breathes in tastes like the sea. He’s so warm, and he’s so...in love, as strange as it is to think it. He doesn’t think it often, he mostly feels it. It’s not that he feels it rarely, or doesn’t believe it. He just rarely says it. But the feeling is so strong that Smith simply can’t not think it. And it’s not caused by the magic, he can tell, having charm magic of his own. No...it’s something magic never needed to make.

When he manages to come back down to himself somewhat, Trott is pressed against him, sticky and sandy, and he’s stroking Smith’s neck.

"Whose are you, Smith?” He asks quietly. “Whose are you?" Trott rubs the kelpie’s chest, checking for any rope burns.

"Yours.” Smith breathes, still panting. “Always yours. Always."

_I love you, Trott. I wish I could say._

"That's right sunshine. So good for me." The smooth quality of Trott’s voice washes over him like a lullabye. _I know._ He replies without speaking. _You don’t have to say it._

 _"Yours_ , Trott.” Smith mumbles, worn out. “Always.” He can’t seem to hold his eyes open. He’s so content.

“You did so well...” Trott’s lips press to the side of his neck, trail up under his chin.

”An’ Ross n' Sips..." _Theirs too..._ Words are slippery.

"Shhhhh, shhh. I know." Trott shushes him and kisses him lightly on the lips. He smooths his hands down Smith's side as the kelpie melts into the towel-covered sand. "All ours, sunshine. And we're yours..."

When Smith wakes, someone is stroking fingers through his hair. He blinks open his eyes.

"Hey there, sunshine."

"Trott?"

The selkie is sitting next to him in the dimming light of the living room. They were lying naked on the beach towels still.

"How're you feeling?"

"Sticky." He thought for a moment. "Achy."

"Yeah. You wanna get cleaned up? I can run a bath."

"That sounds good." He sighs as Trott's hand moves from his hair. "I feel good."

"Glad to hear it. Let's get some food in you, and then take a bath. Alright?" Trott strokes his cheek, smiling.

“Sounds good.” Smith mumbles. The last time Smith ate was hours ago, after they had gotten back from the ocean. “‘m hungry.”

“Can you sit up for me, sunshine? Easy, don’t strain yourself."

Smith slowly he does what he is asked. Trott’s arms are wrapped around him, rubbing warmly on his back. He helps him stand and get something to eat.

When they’re done, Trott leads Smith sleepily to the bathroom. Trott runs a bath, gets in, and beckons Smith to settle back against his chest. Smith leans back in between Trott’s legs, with his own stretched out and pressed up to the other end of the tub.

One of the selkie’s hands is running through his hair. The other lifts and turns Smith’s wrists to inspect them.

“Everything feel okay, sunshine?” Trott asks. “Nothing hurt too much, or feel raw, numb, or tingling?”

“Nah. Feels...nice. A good sore.” Smith sighs happily and tilts his head back onto Trott’s shoulder.

“Good.” Trott’s hands rub his chest. He whispers soft things into Smith’s ear- little bits of praise and sweet nothings.

Smith hums and slides his feet down into the bath water with a wet squeak. “That wasn’t so bad, I think.” He wiggles his toes and makes tiny splashes.

Trott smiles against his neck. “Were you worried?”

“Maybe a little.”

Trott chuckles into Smith’s ear. “I know you get nervous about being tied up, but it always leaves you so pliant and blissed-out.”

“It’s just initially...you know?” The kelpie murmurs.

“Mhm...”

He frowns slightly, face taut for a moment. “I can’t help but think of...of people using lassos or whips.”

Trott strokes his hands across Smith’s shoulders and down his arms. “I know, sunshine.” He says. “I’m never going to do that to you.”

“I know that, but my head gets confused about it.” Smith shifts, nuzzling Trott’s neck.

The selkie hums and Smith feels the vibration on his cheek. “That’s why there are safewords. You could have used that and I would have stopped. Ritual or not, your headspace is more important.”

Smith knows. He knew when he started that he could safeword out, and he almost did. “I almost freaked out there, when you were tying rope around my chest.” He tells Trott.

“I noticed. You pulled through, though.”

“If you hadn’t kissed me then I probably would have panicked.” Smith confesses. “I’m kind of surprised, actually, that I let you tie my hands and ankles both.”

“I’m proud of you, for getting through it.” Trott smiles. “You did really well.”

Smith chuckles. “Imagine that. You, proud of me.”

“It happens more than you think, Smith.” Trott admits. He kisses the top of Smith’s head and begins to stroke his fingers through his hair again. The softness of Trott’s movements lulls Smith’s eyes closed.

“Did you feel it?” Smith asks sleepily.

“Feel what, sunshine?” Trott murmurs in his ear.

“The bond? When it settled?”

“I did.” His fingers still on Smith’s head for a second. “It didn’t hurt, did it?”

“No, it didn’t.” Smith hums when Trott’s fingers move again. “It was...something.”

Trott chuckles, and the movement of his chest shifts Smith’s head just the slightest.

“Something?”

“Just...nice, I guess.”

The selkie chuckles again and kisses the top of Smith’s head. “It was.”

Smith smiles and drifts as Trott’s fingers continue to stroke through his hair.

The kelpie stirs and opens his eyes when he hears a knocking sound. Sips stands in the shadow of the open door.

"So you finally got ol' slimy to take a bath, eh?" Sips grins.

Smith just smiles sleepily and closes his eyes again.

"Whoa, no snarky comment?"

"We scened in the living room." Trott's voice is rumbling low in his ear.

"Oh, so that's why it turned into a beach. That must have been one kinky porno."

The selkie laughs. His fingers brush warm water down Smith’s chest, along the lines made by his nails and the ropes, before slipping back under the water to thread their hands together.

"What'd you use that giant anchor for, anyway?" Sips questions.

"Tied him to it like a St. Andrew's cross."

Sips snorts and the laughter draws a slow grin from Smith. "Whatever floats you water folk’s boat. Or...should I say...sinks it?” The mortal king chortles and steps further into the bathroom. He takes a seat on the side of the tub and watches Smith with a warm look in his eyes.

"He's still rather out of it, as you can probably tell." Trott muses quietly.

"I can see that." Sips gently presses his thumb against the prominent bruise Trott left on the side of the kelpie's neck. Smith slowly draws in a breath and shivers as he lets it out. He smiles and opens his eyes again to watch Sips, who strokes his cheek with the back of his hand. "Looks like you enjoyed it, Smith.”

"You did good." Trott whispers, breath tingling in his ear.

"Thanks." He mumbles, leaning into Sips' hand.

“He’s kinda nice like this. All quiet and polite.”

Smith’s middle finger rises from the bath water to flip Sips off.

The mortal king chuckles and lets his hand fall to his side again. “Shit, I guess I spoke too soon, eh?”

Trott clears his throat. "Where's Ross?"

"Bedroom.” Sips answers smugly. “I tired him out fucking five ways to Sunday against the car."

" _You_ tired _him_ out?"

"Yeah, who do you think did the fucking?"

Sips grins greedily but winces sharply as he stands.

Trott laughs. "Fucking lazy bastard. Go to bed."

"Don't take too long to join us." He ruffles Trott's hair before hobbling out the room, cursing.

The selkie looks down at Smith and kisses the top of his head. "What do you say, sunshine, why don't we get to bed?"

Smith hums, then lets out a short chuckle. "Doesn't matter to me."

"Well my fingers are prunes and my ass is starting to go numb, so I'd say we should get out.”

“Alright then.” He gets up gingerly, rolling his shoulders and humming at the soreness in them. It’s a good sort of sore. He ought to have Ross give him a backrub tomorrow.

Trott stands as well and pulls the towels over to wrap one around the kelpie's shoulders. Smith smiles softly and places his hands on either side of Trott’s hips. How long has it been since he kissed him last? It feels like it’s been a long day.

Smith steps closer and nuzzles his stubble against Trott’s cheek. The selkie rubs warmth into his shoulders and Smith gives a sigh before kissing Trott easy and slow. As they part he leans his forehead against Trott’s and opens his eyes.

Trott’s smiling at him with so much care that he can’t help but smile too.

When they climb in bed, Smith falls asleep with his back against Ross’ chest, Sips hand brushing his hip, and Trott curled around him. The ocean smell of Trott’s skin smells like home.

**Author's Note:**

> I think they just keep the anchor after this. Decorate it with lights in the winter. Bits of sand stick around after they clean up too, collecting in the corners, but eventually that disappears. The chest gets put in Trott’s office, and he keeps the rope in it.
> 
> pearls in selkie culture. used to make deals and binding agreements. the larger the pearl, the more dire the situation, like making peace treaties. magically, there’s no difference in size. historically lovers have a pearl ceremony when they marry, promising loyalty and blessing the pearls with fertility magic for a strong familial line. as time has gone on, the pearls have decreased in popularity, now more valuable to sell to human societies. rings are now more widely given for wedding vows, though pearls may be interwoven in the ceremony somehow, maybe in a necklace or belt to be broken on the wedding night.
> 
> Sex Magic? tagged it, but not entirely sure. I would think the endorphins would only increase the potency of the magic, binding it easier than if it’d just be like “hey swallow this pearl” “okay” *gulp*


End file.
